


Hurt

by BiteTheApple



Series: These Things Take Time [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Aid & Comfort AU, Angst, Armie's POV, Friendship/Love, Helper/Master relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23465785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiteTheApple/pseuds/BiteTheApple
Summary: Armie is a Helper. Timmy is his Master. But they've always just felt like friends and brothers...until now. Its Armie's 16th birthday soon and life will never be the same again.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: These Things Take Time [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1688185
Comments: 40
Kudos: 61





	Hurt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onlyastoryteller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyastoryteller/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Aid and Comfort](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17989277) by [onlyastoryteller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyastoryteller/pseuds/onlyastoryteller). 



> Warning – this is NOT a funny, fluffy ‘The Secret Diary…’ chapter. 
> 
> Its basically an outlet for my current angsty mood (and to stop it spilling over into SD)
> 
> I was going to keep it to myself (its been rattling around my head for about six months) but I thought, what the hell. The world's going to shit on a shovel so who cares. And if only about three people read it, then so be it. 
> 
> Onlyastoryteller is cool with this (I’ve chatted to her on Tumblr) – So if you can get your head around this, it’s a fan-fic of a fan-fic! (I love Aid & Comfort so much 😘) 
> 
> If you want to read this as a one-shot, then that’s fine - but you might not have a clue what I am on about.
> 
> So I would suggest reading **‘Aid & Comfort’ by Onlyastoryteller** first then **‘Wound’** by yours truly next - then brace yourself for full-on teenage Armie and Timmy heartbreak. 
> 
> Got all that? So this takes place RIGHT AFTER Papa has told the boys that Armie has to go to Helper Training for three months…I really hope you like it.

Armie’s legs felt as heavy as lead-weights as he trudged up the stairs behind Timmy. Three months? Training? Training for what? He was so confused but he didn’t dare ask anything else – he was just grateful to have a safe home. And Timmy. For now...

He stood in the doorway of their bedroom and watched as his best friend threw himself backwards onto the bed making the springs creak – well two beds really, but Timmy had insisted on pushing them together after Armie had dislocated his shoulder earlier that summer. He said it was easier for them to play video games like that.

They both knew that wasn’t the real reason but neither of them was quite brave enough or mature enough to understand these new, overwhelming feelings. And besides, Armie had never felt so safe and comforted as he did when he awoke most mornings to find one of Timmy’s legs slung over his, or an arm draped over his stomach, or a pointy elbow nudged against his ribs. He would lay there as still as he could so as not to wake his sleeping friend, just enjoying the weight and warmth of him.

Although there had been some embarrassing occasions when Armie had woken up hard and throbbing with Timmy’s hand a mere inch from touching him. Or with Timmy’s morning boner pressed against his thigh and his breath on his exposed nipples. Armie found that doing mental arithmetic like statistics did the trick until everything just …went away after a while. And if it didn’t, he would carefully extricate himself from the tangle of limbs and take care of himself in the bathroom before Timmy awoke.

His arm was almost fully healed and no one – not him, Timmy, Vanda or Anchise – had ever spoken about that day again. He had worked hard all summer to get his shoulder back to full strength by swimming every day and doing physio that he’d researched himself – but had Papa somehow found out what had happened? Was that the real reason he was being sent away?

God, he felt sick – but he had to fake it - for Timmy.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” said Timmy. “Did you even know ‘Helper Training’ was a thing?”

Armie shrugged – he knew nothing. He had a vague recollection of being a small boy in a classroom of other small boys…but that was it.

Timmy sat up. “Right that’s it! We are making the most of this week! Anything you want to do Armie, anything and I’ll make it happen.”

Armie smiled and said, “I’ll just be happy to spend it with you, that’s all. Keeping up with your track training and...”

“Totally lame! Surely there’s something you want to do?”

Armie thought for a moment. “Well…I like swimming. And playing video games. We could maybe go to the Mall?”

Timmy rolled his eyes and was just about to say something when Papa shouted up the stairs, “Timmy! Your ride to Mr Lizzi’s is here!”

Mr Lizzi was Timmy’s language tutor – his parents were determined to have him speaking fluent Italian before their vacation to Lombardy next year.

Timmy threw himself back across the beds. “Fuck! I’d forgotten about my lesson. Today of all days! I wish you could come too Armie. Although you’re already better than me anyway.”

“You know Helpers aren’t allowed to…”

Timmy cut him off. “Oh Helper Schmelper! I swear if I hear that word one more time today, I’ll scream!”

Armie knew Timmy was hurting as much as he was so yeah, fake it till you make it. He picked up Timmy’s book-bag with one hand and pulled him to his feet with the other. “Come on, get up Mr Drama Queen. You’ll be back in a few hours and then we can plan our week. Go on, I’ll be fine.”

“You sure? I can tell them I’m like ill or something?”

Armie ushered him out of the room and down the stairs and waved him off at the front door. As he turned to close it, Papa called from his study, “Armie, would you come in here for a minute.”

Armie’s heart was in his mouth again. What now? Had he done something wrong after all? Papa gestured for him to sit down in the chair next to him at the large, cluttered desk and ruffled his hair.

“Don’t look so worried son. Everything will be fine. But there’s something I have to show you and I didn’t want Timmy seeing it. You know how much he worries about you.”

Armie just nodded and swallowed as Papa turned the computer screen towards him and pressed ‘play’.

Armie watched in stunned silence as the camera zoomed in on a large, white building in the middle of what looked like acres and acres of forest. Cheesy elevator music started playing as the screen then cut to a brightly lit classroom with rows of metal desks at which sat pristine looking teenage boys, all reading from large bible-like books.

They all had the same short-cropped hair and ridiculous inane smiles on their faces and the scene didn’t look that dissimilar to the old pictures Armie had seen in Papa’s history books of the Hitler Youth training camps. He suddenly became very aware of his crumpled, sweat-stained T-shirt and the flop of blond hair hanging in his eyes and he felt a shudder run down his spine as a cheery voice-over explained the purpose of the training:

_“Welcome to your 16th Year Adolescent Male Helper Training. Now that you are on the cusp of manhood, the time is right to take you to the next level of becoming your best so your Master can be their best!_

_Our sole aim here at The Institute is to teach you how to maximise your true potential and become a Helper your Master can be proud of. A Helper who provides aid and comfort in whatever way the Master wishes. A Helper who understands and executes his role effectively and efficiently. A Helper who thinks not of himself, but only of his Master’s needs and wishes. A Helper who can successfully ensure their Master matures into a confident, successful, happy adult.”_

The scene then cut to a dazzlingly bright gym where equally clone-like students lifted weights and did press-ups whilst being watched by scary looking men in blue boiler suits.

_“Many of you will have been assigned to your Master from childhood and you may consider yourself to be a best friend, a brother even – but you are wrong! Ask yourself – have the lines between Helper and friend become blurred? Does your Master lack confidence? Do they rely on you in awkward social situations? Do they favour spending time with you over their real friends? Do they believe that they are less clever than you? Do they treat you as an equal?_

_If the answer to any of the above is yes, then you have not been a good Helper! But don’t worry, we will train both your body and mind over the next few months in our state-of-the-art facility where you will learn the rules set out in ‘The Helpers Purpose’. You will learn how to re-establish new boundaries and anticipate your Master’s needs and to truly fulfil your only purpose in life – to be the best!”_

It cut back to the front of the building where a large group of Helpers stood in a long line doing a double thumbs-up and shouting, “Being our Best!” Armie thought they looked like complete morons.

When the whole three minutes of torture ended, Papa turned to him and said, “See, I told you it wasn’t all that bad. Treat it like a sort of summer-camp for Helpers. It could be fun. And it might be good for you and Timmy to have some time apart.”

Armie could hardly trust himself to speak but he managed to whisper, “May I go back to my room now please?”

“Of course! Try not to worry. You know we’ve always thought of you as a second son, don’t you? I’ll get Vanda to send your lunch upstairs if you want?”

Armie nodded – but the last thing he felt like doing was eating – he felt like crying! No wonder Papa didn’t want Timmy to see this.

His blurred eyes scanned over their bedroom, this haven of happiness for the last six years: the jumble of communal clothes spilling out of the closet, the shelves crammed with every book and game and knickknack from their shared childhood, the pushed-together beds…the beds…

And the stark words of the Helper Trainer rang in his ears. _“Do they treat you as an equal?”_

His stomach lurched – so all this time he thought that he was helping Timmy, when all along he was hindering him! Armie rushed to the bathroom and was sick in the tub.

*****

“Armieeeeee I’m baaaaack!” Armie heard the front door crash back onto its hinges.” Wait till I tell you where we’re going tonight!” Timmy bounded up the stairs two at a time and thundered into the bedroom, then stopped dead in his tracks.

“Er…what’s going on?”

After he’d thrown up, Armie had showered and brushed his teeth - and then set-to re-organising the whole bedroom. He separated their clothes. He rearranged the large shelf-unit. He sorted out which books were his and which were Timmy’s – everything. Apart from the beds – they were still pushed together, for now.

“I…I just thought it would make it easier for you when I…while I’m away. Do you like it?”

Timmy silently perused the shelves while Armie did a little nervous running commentary beside him, “Here are all your board games, there are your figurines, here’s the game controllers you customised, right up there are your trophies and here…are your books. I’ve arranged them into subjects, and down there…”

Timmy cut him off, “Armie, what the fuck? Why have you done this? And where’s all your stuff?”

Armie blushed a deep shade of pink and pointed to a small bookshelf next to his side of the bed. It had twenty books carefully stacked on the bottom shelf, a pile of notebooks and a pot with coloured pens on the middle shelf, and a small collection of stones and shells on the top.

Timmy picked up a smooth, peach-coloured stone and rubbed it in his fingers. They had found it on a beach one summer and thought it was funny because it looked like a butt. It dawned on Armie now, as Timmy carefully placed it back, that it looked like a love-heart the other way around.

Timmy took one of the larger books from the bottom shelf and opened it on the front page and in a six-year-olds careful block letters it said, ‘Happy Brithday To My Bestest Frend Armie from Timmy x x x’

“Armie, these are just the books I’ve given you for Christmas and birthdays. Where’s the rest of your stuff?”

Armie’s heart sank as he saw what he called Timmy’s ‘worried face’ so he had to come up with something quickly. “Oh you know me, I don’t need much. And besides, you were always so good at sharing that I didn’t really need anything of my own. Anyway, what were you about to tell me? Something about tonight?”

It worked and Timmy was excited to tell him where they were going. “Jake’s folks have finally agreed that he can have a pool party – and its tonight! They’ll be there of course, which is a bit of a blag, but they say as long as we behave, they’ll stay in the house and leave us to it. And we’re allowed a few beers according to Jake. And, get this, girls are going to be there too. So I’ll definitely need you there to be my better-looking wingman! You know I do that ‘talking-thing’ when girls are around. So embarrassing…”

Armie’s stomach did a little flip - _(do they rely on you in awkward social situations?)_

*****

Armie had to carry Timmy fireman’s-lift style up the stairs as he genuinely didn’t think he was capable of getting up there without breaking something - bones, ceramics - or worse still, waking up Momma! God forbid.

He lay him carefully down on the bed then dashed to the bathroom for a glass of water. He held Timmy’s head up and put the glass to his lips, “Here, drink this.”

“I’ve had the best night ever Armie. But why the fuck is the room spinning.” And he started giggling uncontrollably.

Armie put his hand over his mouth. “Shhh you’re gonna wake everyone. You drank too much beer, simple as that. Now just lay down and sleep it off.”

Timmy thankfully did as he was told, and seconds later he was flat on his back snoring with his mouth slightly open. Armie unlaced his sneakers and eased them off, then paused and took a breath before he carefully unbuttoned Timmy’s jeans and gently slid them off his legs and placed them over the back of the chair.

Just as he turned back to the bed, the world shifted and moonlight shone in through the window, bathing Timmy in a blueish white glow. Armie’s breath caught in this throat – he thought Timmy looked like some sort of angel laid there in his baggy checked boxers and his white T-shirt with a little smile dancing on his lips. His mouth was suddenly dry and his heart sped up a beat. How the hell was he going to last a whole three months without him – without his Timmy?

He reached to pull the sheet over him then, without a conscious thought, he leaned forward and for the first time ever, gently kissed Timmy on the mouth. He tasted of beer and cigarettes and vanilla ice cream – and it was the most wonderful thing Armie had tasted in his whole life. He always knew that the lips were the softest part of the body but he couldn’t imagine anyone’s lips being as soft and beautiful as Timmy’s.

_(have the lines between Helper and friend become blurred?)_

A cold fear suddenly gripped him that had little to do with his damp underwear from the pool party, and he dashed around the bed, quickly undressed and slid under the covers, taking care to stay way over to his side. But it didn’t make any difference because before too long, Timmy grunted and flipped over and snuggled up next to him - and they stayed like that until morning.

*****

“Here, drink this.” Armie gently shook Timmy and held out a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Timmy sat up with a start.

“Wha…! Fuck! Agh my head! Oh its only you. Go away Armie!” and flopped back down and pulled the covers right over his head.

“I…thought it might help. I’ll just put it…” Armie was about to place the glass on Timmy’s nightstand when a hand gripped his forearm and Timmy threw back the sheets.

“I’m sorry Armie. It’s just that I feel like I’ve got a goddamn axe in my head. Please can you close the blinds.”

“You don’t need to say sorry."

“Er…I do when I’ve been a dick!” said Timmy and he took the glass from Armie and drank the juice down in three gulps. “That was the best orange juice I have ever tasted in my whole life.” They both laughed and Armie had a flash-back to the kiss as tiny butterflies fluttered in his stomach.

Timmy scooted over and patted the bed next to him, “Here, sit for a second. Tell me all the embarrassing things I did last night. Let’s get it over with.”

Armie could feel heat creeping up to his cheeks. “Nothing to tell really. Unless you count kissing Rachel in Spin the Bottle."

“She kissed me! I was powerless!” Timmy protested. “Oh god, how embarrassing. I don’t even fancy her!”

“Was it a nice kiss though?” Armie fiddled with the empty glass, he couldn’t look at Timmy.

“I’ve no idea. It’s the one and only time I’ve ever been kissed so who knows.”

Armie’s blush deepened. He couldn’t hide it.

“Armie? Is there something you’re not telling me? Have you kissed a girl before? You have, haven’t you! I knew it! Come on – dish it you sly dog.”

Armie was beet red now. “No Timmy, I’ve never kissed a girl.”

He was telling the truth. That was one thing he was getting right – Helpers never lie.

**Author's Note:**

> And breathe.... so? What did you think? I hope it scratched an angst itch for those of you who need it (its a weird thing isnt it?)
> 
> Please let me know your thoughts - every kudos and comment is soooooo appreciated!
> 
> Peace and Love (in these very out-there times) dear readers.🌈😘


End file.
